Chapter 1: One choked himself…

"I don't see why we couldn't have stayed in Santa Barbara." Lassiter ducked into the bright lobby of the Christmas Island Inn. The rain had soaked his hair and was trickling down his neck, but he didn't mind. He didn't deserve to feel comfortable.

"Maybe because I'd like to spend my vacation not working?" O'Hara said, shaking her umbrella. "You know, like a normal person?"

An accusatory word, normal. Lassiter watched O'Hara smooth a hand over her hair and felt guilt gnaw at his stomach. She was his partner, and in one reckless night he'd spoiled that bond. Far from quenching his obsession, his kiss with Spencer had provided illicit memories he couldn't help but savor. No, there was nothing normal in how he was feeling.

He moved to a broad window and stood, dripping onto the tiles, as flashlight beams bobbed in the dark, coming closer. He felt a rush of anticipation and hated himself for it. Only the thrill of chasing a criminal—preferably a homicidal one—pushed such thoughts to the edge of his mind. A holiday was the last thing he needed.

"I bet lots of people use their vacation time to review cold cases," he muttered, thinking wistfully of the work files on his dining room table.

O'Hara joined him at the window. "But none of those people show up at my house at two in the morning to show me crime scene photos." She gritting her teeth behind her smile.

"I still say the blood spatter looked odd. There's no way that was just one chainsaw." Truth be told, he'd had a very different reason for showing up at her place. He'd practiced his confession half a dozen times in the car, but choked when she opened the door and looked up at him with her bright blue eyes. So trusting.

Carlton hung his sodden head. He was a monster.

In a flash of lightening he spotted several hunched figures approaching and his heartbeat quickened. He couldn't help feeling –what? Eager? Hopeful? It wasn't just lust, although it was that, too. He only knew that when Shawn was in the room he felt more…whole.

O'Hara turned to admire the lobby, festooned with garlands and smelling of pine and wood polish. "Well, I think a get-away is just what we need. No work. No interruptions. Just good old holiday cheer."

"Absolutely." Lassiter took a deep breath and steeled himself for the ordeal to come. He'd sing carols and deck the halls and wassail without fail. He owed her.

Lightening flashed again and Shawn and Gus burst through the doors, accompanied by a crash of thunder.

"…a car and a boat, and then all those stairs? In the rain?" Shawn was saying. "It's like Planes, Trains and Automobiles, but without the hilarious Canadian accent of the late great John Candy." He brushed the water from his motorcycle jacket, then ran his fingers vigorously through his wet hair, silently cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella.

"It's called the Christmas Island Inn, Shawn." Gus said, lowering the hood on his bright yellow raincoat. "How did you think we 'd get here?"

"Airwolf-style?" Shawn countered. "Come on! An island hotel just screams helicopter." In fact, he hadn't given any thought to their travel arrangements. He'd been preoccupied with the sleeping arrangements. Weeks of late-night discussions with Jules had finally resulted in each of them giving the other the green light to pursue sexual adventures outside their relationship. Shawn had confessed his Lassie crush, and Jules had countered with her Gus interest. It should have been win-win. Gus was a gentleman. Shawn trusted him with Jules. And Lassie…well he'd been sure the interest was mutual until he'd thrown caution to the wind and kissed the lanky lug. Since then things had been completely weird. And not in a good way. By now he should have been the tasty filling in a Jules and Lassie sandwich. Instead it was separate rooms.

He glared at Gus. "That raincoat makes you look like Paddington Bear."

Gus, ignored the Paddington remark. "You'd hardly use a high-tech military grade helicopter just to ferry tourists twenty miles offshore. And in case you haven't noticed, there's a storm outside."

"Thanks for the newsflash, Anderson Cooper's photo negative." Shawn hefted his duffle bag over a shoulder. "I was completely mystified as to why my hair was so limp and damp."

"And just so you know," Gus continued, " the Airwolf helicopter was sold off and eventually crashed during a thunderstorm killing everyone aboard. I think there's a lesson in that."

Shawn squinted suspiciously at Gus. Were they still talking about Airwolf? Or did Gus think their sexual helicopter would go down when things got rough?

"I was starting to worry about you guys," Jules leaned in and kissed Shawn on the cheek, then reached out and squeezed Gus's hand.

Those two were playing it pretty close to the chest, Shawn thought. Personally, he would have loved to stage a multi-partner make-out in the lobby. How could he enjoy onlookers eating their hearts out if nobody knew what was going on?

"Let's just check in." Lassiter strode toward the registration desk, his bag skidding on its tiny wheels. "You can make out with each other in your room," he added, barely audibly.

Shawn grinned and trailed after him. He could watch that ass all day.

"Awww, don't be jealous, Lassie. There's plenty of sugar in the bowl." In the reflection of a polished ornament Shawn saw Lassiter's face cloud in anger.

Things that make you go hmmmmm, Shawn thought, and slapped a hand on the bell to summon the desk staff.

A dark haired woman in a blazer smiled a welcome. "Checking in?" she asked.

"Yes, please." Gus stepped forward. "We made our reservation online. You had an excellent deal through Groupon."

While Lassiter, arms crossed and jaw clamped, seethed next to him, Shawn plunged a hand into a bowl of chocolate truffles.

The clerk tapped her fingers over the keyboard with a practiced flourish. "Yes, here it is. Three adjoining rooms."

"Adjoining?"

Shawn saw panic flash across Lassiter's face.

"Umm hmmm," Shawn mumbled, his mouth now full of Swiss chocolate.

In the elevator, Shawn held out a gold-foiled truffle. "Say Jules, you look like you could use something dark, smooth and delicious."

"Yes please!"

Shawn swore he saw Gus blush.

"How about you, Lassie? Can I interest you in a sinful holiday indulgence?" He watched Lassiter grimace and swallow.

"I'm on a diet."

With a soft chime the elevator doors opened and Lassiter bolted through.

Shawn sighed. They were a long way from that sandwich.

"I like it," Jules said, admiring the broad bed with its smooth mahogany headboard, heavy duvet, and the plush carpet under their feet. "It's sort of Best Western Agatha Christie."

"I know I'm hoping to have a Mysterious Affair in Style," Shawn said, his voice dripping with innuendo.

"It was The Mysterious Affair at Styles." Juliet opened her suitcase and hung her sweater in the tall wardrobe. As a girl, she had read every Agatha Christie novel in the house, keeping a notebook of suspects as she attempted to solve each case.

"Are you sure?" Shawn bounced energetically on the bed. "I've heard it both ways."

"Absolutely. "

"I guess you're right. Henry didn't let me read mysteries when I was a kid. He said they made cops look like a bunch of bungling idiots."

"This is more like Ten Little Indians, anyway," She said. "A big isolated house on the island." That's what makes it so perfect, she thought. They were away from the station, and away from all the unspoken guidelines.

"Speaking of affairs," Shawn put a hand to his towel-wrapped head, looking like a low-budget Carnac the Magnificent. "I sense you and Gus…making goo-goo eyes at each other… in a car…and on a boat." He dropped the hand. "Oh wait, that's not a vision, that was the past two hours."

"If you've changed your mind, you can say so." She joined him on the bed and rested her head against his shoulder.

"It's not that." He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "I just wish things were going as smooth with Lassie. We flirt, we kiss, and suddenly he's the poster boy for repressed anger." A wrinkle creased his forehead. "You did talk to him, right?"

Her smile began to resemble a toothy frown. "I tried." She looked away.

"Tried means didn't," Shawn said, his harsh words reminding him of his father.

"I will. Tonight. I swear."

Shawn gently hooked a finger under her chin and raised her reluctant eyes to his. "If you've changed your mind that's okay. "

She slapped him playfully. "And lose out on my dirty weekend? Are you kidding?" Juliet sighed. Shawn was sweet. She didn't get what he saw in Lassiter, but she liked his enthusiasm. And while she wouldn't have guessed Lassiter was interested in Shawn, their shared kiss seemed to suggest otherwise. She just needed to figure out how to tell him that he had her blessing to take things further with Shawn without sounding like a pimp. Easy peasy.

Half an hour later they walked arm and arm into the lounge. Tiny lights twinkled from pine garlands, and a fire crackled in the fireplace, below a delicate porcelain nativity scene.

They joined Lassiter and Gus at the bar. Lassiter was holding an almost empty glass and Gus had his hands around a mug of eggnog, enjoying the warm scents of nutmeg and cinnamon.

"Buy you an eggnog, Lassie?" Shawn asked. "My treat. I won't even expect you to put out. We can just hold hands and talk."

Lassiter smirked and shook his head. "I don't do nog. But if you're buying, Spencer, I'm drinking." He turned to the bartender. "Scotch. Double. Neat."

They wended their way through club chairs and spindly-legged tables to a corner.

"…since we've no place to go…" Bing Crosby crooned through the sound system, "…let it snow, let it snow, let it snow." It might not be snowing outside, Juliet noted, but the rain hadn't let up any. Hard drops battered the windows.

She turned her attention to their fellow guests. At the far end, two men in their sixties were playing cards. Near the fireplace a red-headed man leaned over a billiard table, teaching a young blonde woman how to hold her cue. A middle-aged man drinking a beer was sitting so low in his chair as to be nearly horizontal. An elderly man in a cable-knit sweater looked on disapprovingly. His mustache and erect posture looked military.

She glanced at Lassiter. She needed to get him alone. As soon as she figured out what to say. She nodded toward the group at the billiard table.

"What do you suppose their story is?"

"Oooh, I love this game!" Gus leaned forward. "The young couple want to marry, but he has no prospects. The gentleman in the suit is the girl's father, who'll never consent to the marriage, and the old dude is their rich uncle, who'll probably be bumped off so his greedy relatives can inherit."

"Good one, Gus." She surveyed the group. "My turn. The elderly man is rich, but the girl is his shockingly young wife. She's been plotting his murder with her secret lover—the redhead. They're pretending they ran into each other accidentally but have been planning their meeting for weeks."

The young man walked to the bar, returned with two drinks, and passed one to the blonde.

Gus nodded approvingly. "And the dude in the suit?"

Juliet bit her lip as she watched the subject confer with the older man in the sweater, go to the bar and return with drinks for each of them. "He's the corrupt lawyer who's been embezzling for years."

"Nicely done." Gus raised his mug in a toast, then sipped his eggnog appreciatively.

"You're both wrong," Shawn said. "I sense that she's the one with the money. The rest of them are just bees, buzzing around the nest."

"Hive," Gus corrected. "Bees have hives."

"I had hives once," Lassiter added, so deadpan that Juliet wasn't sure if he was making a joke or just trying to participate in the conversation.

Shawn gulped his drink, and wiped off a nog mustache with the back of his hand.

"I'm getting very strong vibes about them," he said. "Sure, the David Caruso wannabe is making a play, but the other two haven't taken their eyes off her. The suit is bored out of his mind, but he doesn't dare leave." The man in question looked at his watch, as if to underscore the insight. "The older guy is probably her guardian, but he just watched her take a martini from Lothario Caine and didn't make a peep, even though I'm sensing that she's way under twenty-one. So he has no real power. Ergo, the money is hers." He turned to Gus. "It's 'ergo,' right?"

Gus nodded. "Ergo is Latin for 'therefore.' You nailed it." The two friends bumped mugs together.

"Underage drinking? I'll handle this." Lassiter moved to rise, but Shawn slapped a restraining hand on his thigh.

"Whoa there, Buck Rogers. We can't go barging onto their starship. It's Christmas. Almost. It's the eve of the week before the week before Christmas. I've already eaten the first half that chocolate-a-day game Gus gave me."

"It's an Advent calendar," Gus said. "And we're only into the first week."

Shawn shrugged. "My point is, it's the holidays. Lighten up, Lassie."

"I suppose you find underage drinking festive?" Lassiter's voice was bitter, but he settled back onto the couch.

"You know how the old song goes," Shawn said, putting a hand to his head as if listening to one side of a pair of headphones. "Here's to you, raise a glass for everyone?"

Gus joined in. "Here's to them, underneath that burning sun."

Smiling, Juliet chimed in for the chorus. "Do they know it's Christmastime at all?"

Shawn chuckled. "Come on, let's keep the game going. The two geezers in the corner. What's their deal?"

"Uh, Shawn?"

"Yes Lassie?"

"Your hand. Move it."

"But my powers increase when I'm making physical contact with someone," Shawn complained as he withdrew his hand from Lassiter's leg. "Did you know, for example, that Gus has a magic head?"

"I do," Gus assured him.

"Riiight." Lassiter sounded skeptical.

Juliet took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Shawn, why don't you and Gus keep playing. I'd like to have a word with Carlton." She stood.

Gus nodded toward the men playing cards in the corner. "The man who looks like Kenny Rogers is a professional gigolo…"

"What's so secret that you can't say it in front of Spencer?" Lassiter asked once they were out of earshot.

"Carlton, you and I have worked together for a while now, and I feel like we've reached a point where we can be honest."

"Why? Does my breath smell like Ritz crackers again?" Lassiter breathed heavily into his hand and sniffed it suspiciously.

"That's not it. As you know, Shawn and I have been dating for a while," she noted that Lassiter scratched nervously behind his ear. She gently touched the hand that held Lassiter's scotch in a death grip. "We've been talking…about relationships…and boundaries …and I just wanted you to know—"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a voice cut in over the sound system. "Silence please!"

Juliet glared around the room, looking for the source of the interruption.

Shawn stood, beaming. "It's a murder mystery weekend! How awesome is that?" He smacked Gus in the arm. "You're on my team!"

"Ow!" Gus rubbed his arm. "Damn it Shawn, that hurt!"

"No tag-backs" Shawn whispered quickly.

"Each one of you is an exceptionally vile and deceitful person," the voice went on.

"I don't think it's a game, guys," Juliet said, noting the expressions of confusion, fear, and anger on their fellow guests.

Lassiter watched everyone with a sharpened intensity, his scotch and conversation forgotten.

"What is this nonsense?" One of the card players rose from his chair.

"Through your lies," the mysterious voice continued, "each of you has gained unwarranted advantage at the expense of the truth, and for that, the ten of you will now be judged."

Gus did a quick count of the people in the room, and looked at Shawn with panic.

Juliet nodded. There were ten of them.

"Carlton…."

"I can count." Lassiter's hand went instinctively to his holster.

"I demand to know what's going on!" The military mustache quivered as its owner peered around the room.

"Prisoners at the bar, have you anything to—" The voice stopped abruptly, and the bartender emerged from a door at the back, looking worried.

"Sorry about that folks," he said. "Someone's idea of a joke, I expect."

"Hardly funny!" The military man glared at no one in particular.

"Oh relax, Wally," the redhead smirked and wrapped a proprietary arm around the young blonde. "I won't let anything happen to our precious Barbara." He laughed. "Even if she is a naughty little liar like the recording says."

Barbara danced playfully away to the far side of the billiard table. "So what if I am?"

"So nothing. I'm one myself, apparently." He raised his drink. "Here's to lying!" He took a satisfying gulp of the cocktail.

He was dead within minutes.